


I’ll Carry You Back

by jasmineisland



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 15:49:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasmineisland/pseuds/jasmineisland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for h/c bingo on LJ<br/>Miles out in the woods, 15 year old Sam breaks his leg. John and Dean have to get him to a hospital</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’ll Carry You Back

[h/c bingo card](http://jasmineisland.livejournal.com/3483.html)

Title: I’ll Carry You Back

Prompt: archaic medical treatment

Characters: John Dean Sam

Warning: none

Word Count: 2457

Summary: Miles out in the woods, 15 year old Sam breaks his leg. John and Dean have to get him to a hospital

Dean couldn’t believe how fast things had gone south. They were hours from any sort of civilization, hunting something that only killed the few people who were stupid enough to venture out there. Like them. They’d known going in that it wasn’t going to be a cakewalk, the terrain was rough and no trails to follow. John had told them to expect anything, but even the great John Winchester hadn’t expected the fucking thing to drop down on them from 50’ above in a tree.

The sight of his 15 year old baby, not a baby, but still a kid, brother being slammed to the ground then thrown into a tree had sent a wave of rage through Dean. He would never forget the sound of Sam’s leg literally snapping against the tree as long as he lived. The shriek that sounded too shrill to be human that came from the kid before he hit the ground would forever be fodder for nightmares for the older brother. Where Dean’s first instinct had been to run to his brother, John had started barking numbers to tell him where to clock the damn thing. The next few minutes were a blur in Dean’s memory. Sam screaming, John yelling, then the loud thunder of bullets leaving the older hunters guns before the crash of the creature hitting the ground.

Now, under Dad’s orders, Dean was running through the woods with his GPS in one hand and a bag of fucking corn starch in the other. The only times Dean ever questioned his father was when Sam got hurt. They were supposed to protect him, dammit, and this was NOT supposed to happen. When he made it back to his father and brother, he stopped for a moment. Sam’s cries had dropped to quiet whimpers, and John was kneeling beside him, just whispering to him.

“Dean! Get over here.”

Shoving the GPS in his backpack, Dean handed the starch to his father and dropped to his knees beside his brother.

“Hold him.” John’s voice wasn’t loud, but was clearly an order. “Gotta splint and set this to get him out of here.”

The second their father’s hand touched the obviously broken tibia, Sam began to scream again, trying desperately to get away from the older man.

“I said hold him, Dean. I can’t do this with him fighting me.”

“Make him stop, Dean. Please make him stop! It hurts!” Desperate hands clung to his brother’s jacket, pleading with him to do something.

“Sammy, we have to fix it.” It took everything in Dean to keep his voice even. “You have to hold still and let Dad fix it.” Tear filled hazel eyes stared into his and Dean would have given anything to be able to pick his brother up and make it all go away.

John gripped Sam’s ankle and tried to line up the sides of the makeshift splint he’d formed from tree branches. Another bloodcurdling scream came from the boy and he pulled the right leg away from John while the left came up and actually caught John in the face.

“God dammit, Dean! I told you to hold him!” Making a decision, John moved towards his youngest’s head. “I’m sorry, Sammy.” Before either of his sons could figure out what he was going to do, John swung. His fist connected with Sam’s chin and the boy was instantly quiet.

Dean was enraged. “What the fuck, Dad? You’re gonna help him by breaking his god damned jaw?”

“I’ve got about thirty seconds to do this before he wakes up. You want your brother to walk again, you’ll shut up and help me.”

Against his will, Dean finally looked at the leg in front of him. It was obvious the tibia and fibula were broken, the fibula protruding slightly through the skin on the back of Sam’s calf where John had cut the jeans open. Nausea rose in Dean’s gut and he took a deep breath through his nose to try to fight it.

“You keep it together, Son. You hear me?” When Dean nodded, John reached over and gripped his shoulder. “We’re gonna fix this.” Removing his shirt, he handed it to Dean. “Strips. Big ones.”

Satisfied that Dean was going to follow orders, John took a deep breath. Whispering another apology to his youngest son, he gripped the ankle and knee in his hand and twisted. Even unconscious Sam whimpered in pain while his father manipulated the bones back into some semblance of where they were supposed to be. Blood flowed freely from the wound site, but he reached for the top of the boy’s foot. “Got a pulse. That’s good enough. He won’t lose use of the foot.”

That got through to Dean. He hadn’t considered the long term damage to his brother if they hadn’t done this. John took the starch and dumped his canteen directly into the bag. Making a thick paste, he pushed the strips of shirt into it and made sure they were covered. “Dean, pack that open wound with some gauze. Splint won’t hold it. Gonna have to make a cast. We’re gonna have to carry him a couple miles over rough terrain and I don’t want to have to do this to him again.”

As he packed the wound, Dean heard his brother begin to whimper again. “He’s waking up, Dad.” Almost afraid his father was going to hit his brother again, he tensed.

“Worst part’s over. Just try to keep him calm until I’m done.”

Before Sam was even fully conscious, he began to cry. Responding to the pitiful sounds coming from the boy, Dean leaned close to his face and stroked his hair softly. “S’okay, Sammy. Just a broken leg. Dad’s gonna wrap it up and we’re gonna get the hell out of here.”

“Hurts.”

“I know, kiddo. Worst part’s over. Promise.” A sharp glare at John told the older man that he’d better be right about that. “Dad’s making some kind of cast to keep it straight.”

“Cast?” Sam tried to see what his father was doing, but Dean gently held him still.

“Just using some starch and strips of shirt, Sammy.” John wrapped the first piece around the leg and Sam jumped. “Easy. You have to stay still. The starch will harden in a few minutes and once I get you wrapped up we can get you up and out of here.” Smoothing the first piece around the actual break site, John looked up to find both boys staring at him. “Corn starch. Back before all the high tech fiberglass and shit they used corn starch.” As he soaked another piece, he continued to speak. Seemed to keep all of their minds occupied and off what John was doing. “Probably back before my grandfather was born. Back in ‘nam a local used it to hold a friend of mine’s wrist. Holds like concrete, but cuts off easy enough.” He applied the second piece. “We’ll get you to a hospital to get Xrays and make sure it gets set right, but we’re a few hours away, and this will hold it until we get there.”

Wiping the sheen of sweat from Sam’s forehead, Dean ruffled the soaked hair gently. “Try to relax, Sammy. Breathe through it.”

Sam nodded and inhaled sharply when John touched a sensitive spot. Against his will, a soft whimper escaped.

“I got ya. Almost there, kiddo. Dad?”

“Last one.” Smoothing down the makeshift cast, John reached for the branches and lined them up on either side of the teen’s leg. “Okay, we’re going to tie this in place, then wait about fifteen until it hardens. Then we’re out of here.”

“Just think, Sammy. ‘Bout six weeks or so in a cast- complete with a set of crutches. Girls are going to be tripping over themselves to help your pretty broken ass.”

“Shut up.” It was more of a mumble, but a slight smile conveyed to Dean that the boy appreciated his effort.

 

The wait until John deemed the cast hard enough to withstand moving seemed like hours to Dean. He knew it felt like forever to his brother. The kid tried, but he couldn’t quite stop the flow of tears from the pain. All Dean could do was hold his hand and keep telling him it was going to be okay.

Finally, John nodded and moved to his son’s side opposite of Dean. “We’re going to get him up. Be careful, the split goes about three inches longer then the leg to hold it. Can you carry him for a bit?”

“Yes, sir.” Shouldn’t have been a question as far as Dean was concerned. Sam had finally lost the baby fat after his most recent growth spurt, but he still hadn’t really packed on any muscle yet.

“I’ll support the leg. Then we’ll switch after about half a mile.” Before Dean could object, his father glared at him. “Half a mile each turn, Dean. Neither of us can get worn down. We’re about four miles from the Impala.”

Dean barely managed to not reply that he’d been the one to run the eight fucking miles to get the starch. He knew how far out they were. When the older hunters pulled Sam to his feet, he actually trembled. As gently as Dean could, he lifted the boy into his arms. With a smooth interaction that only comes from working so closely together, John supported, then lifted the broken limb in sync with his oldest son.

As much as Dean hated to admit it, his father had been right. He was actually grateful when John announced it was time to switch. Sam might be skinny, but he was long, and keeping his brother’s body level and walk through the trees was exhausting. The constant shuddering of ragged breaths only made it harder to keep him steady. And the tight grip Sam had on his neck wasn’t helping, but Dean didn’t have the heart to say anything. His brother had kept his face buried against his chest, but Dean could feel the tears through his shirt.

The transfer from Dean to John was smooth, but the boy couldn’t stop a loud cry of pain at the movement. Both older hunters bit their lips and refused to make eye contact. Hearing the pain Sam was in tore at them. Once Sam was snug against his chest and Dean had a good hold on the leg, John started to move. When his youngest tried to wrap around his neck, John stopped him and held him tighter.

“Breathe through it, Sammy. Suck it up and tough it out, kiddo.” The soft tone John used didn’t take the edge off the sharp words.

Dean glared at his father. John treated him like that, and it was fine, but Sammy was 15, and their father didn’t seem to realize that in many ways he was still a kid. Dean would also hazard a guess from the damage he saw that a good number of men older then Sammy wouldn’t have been able to take it as well as the teen did. The rules in the Winchester house were that if blood wasn’t gushing and bones weren’t broken, nobody cared. Well God dammit, blood was gushing and bones were broken, so Dean felt their father should cut Sam some slack. Risking not seeing where he was walking, Dean looked at Sam. If it was possible the kid looked worse. Now traces of embarrassment at the verbal smackdown were evident. Both hands were over his face and he was shaking from the pain and the effort to not cry in his father’s arms. The older brother decided at that moment that after the next switch he would carry Sam to the car. It was his job to suck it up and tough it out. Not Sammy’s.

When John stopped, Dean took a deep breath. The last three miles were going to royally suck, but he would not allow his father to add to Sam’s pain again. The transfer was smooth, but painful, again, and soon Sam was back in his brother’s arms. Holding him close, Dean actually tried to hug his brother.

“S’okay, Sammy. I got ya.”

Understanding that it was actually permission, Sam wrapped his arm around his brother’s neck again. Dean slowed a bit, trying to pace himself to make it back to the Impala without his father taking the boy out of his arms again. When John tried to stop him, he simply shook his head and held his brother tighter.

“Dean.” John’s voice was soft.

“I got him.” The answer was clipped, giving no room for argument. “I can suck it up and tough it out.”

A cold silence fell between the older men. Dean knew it wasn’t over, but he was grateful that his father didn’t choose that moment to call him on his attitude. Unaware of the tension between his father and brother, Sam continued to cling to Dean as if he were 5 instead of 15.

It was a long trek, but Dean breathed a sigh of relief when he finally caught sight of the black paint on his Impala reflecting the moonlight back at him. As he got his brother situated in the backseat and climbed in with him, John dug through the trunk for a few minutes. As he got in the driver’s seat, he handed Dean a blanket.

“Keep him covered. He looks like he’s going into shock. Try to give him some of this.” He handed over a bottle of Jack. The Winchester cure-all for pain. “Not too much, don’t want him puking. But it will take the edge off. We’re still about two hours from a hospital.”

“Hand me his backpack, would you, Dad? He’s got some of his protein bars in it and it will coat his stomach so he can handle the Jack.” Dean knew Sam hadn’t really eaten and the Jack wouldn’t sit well on the teen’s empty stomach.

While John drove as fast as he dared in the darkness of the woods, Dean got the bar and some of the Jack in his brother. Finally, Sam seemed to relax a little. At least the tremors stopped and he was breathing easier. Hoping his brother would actually pass out, Dean held him against his chest and ran his fingers through the long hair.

For a long time the car was quiet. Suddenly Sam actually chuckled softly.

“Freakin’ lightweight.” Dean smiled. “What’s funny?”

Dean knew his little brother was going to be fine when the slightly tipsy kid looked up at him and asked in a slurred voice. “Did you really say my ass was pretty?”


End file.
